


Lost Souls

by SheWhoWillRise



Series: Sequoia [1]
Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-23 00:34:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12494432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SheWhoWillRise/pseuds/SheWhoWillRise
Summary: The Third World War is here, but can the rebellion win?





	Lost Souls

**Author's Note:**

> This is what I had to write for the Sequoia, the writing contest at my school.
> 
> This is the last chapter of the story I want this to be in.
> 
> The prompt: Gore, Guts, and Glory. What are you fighting for?

All around them, hell raised. Both sides wounded and dying. Their screams heard for miles. She winced at every cry for help, feeling useless as the bloody mud soaked through her jeans, her knees sinking more and more every passing second. She wished it would just swallow her up now, get it over with. She had failed. Failed her people, failed her brother, failed herself.

“Such a weak little rebellion, daughter.” The man laughed, twirling a gun in his hand. His black leather trench coat splattered with blood not his own. His other hand ran across his face, wiping off the blood and dirt. The streaks left over made him look like he was scratched, giving his menacing look a disturbing edge of true horror.

“You are no father of mine.” She growled and shot him, a last-ditch attempt to end it all. It bounced right off his coat, making him smile even crueler before it morphed into anger. He knocked the gun out of her hand with his own shot. She cried out, holding her hand with the wound. He got down to her and pulled on her hair, distracting her from the pain of her hand and leg, which got a bullet wound from his general, who now laid dead on her father’s front staircase. His breath was hot on her cheek, a degrading heat that turned cold in her veins. She whined through the teeth pinching her bottom lip.

“Any last words?” He said, laughing cruelly as he pressed the gun to her stomach. Her arm still gushed blood and leg bleeding out heavily. No matter what she said to get him not to let her go, she was going to die anyway from the blood loss.

“We shall fight on the beaches,” She breathed out painfully. “We shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills;” She grasped the hidden knife in her boot. “We shall never surrender.” She echoed Churchill from the Second World War with tears in her eyes, if only they knew that wouldn’t be the last great war.

“There will always people like you, but there will always people like us.” She gasped for breath. “To fight you. Forever and always.”

He snarled, nose crinkling, yellow teeth showed through dirty lips. A shot rang out across the field, mixing with the others, insignificant to this war. It felt as if her whole body collapsed in on itself. Her chest heaved as it tried to get a breath in, as if it was trying to inflate it back to it’s original state.

“Honestly, did you actually think you would win? Against me? Ha!” He laughed. “I already have two-thirds of the world under my control. You’re tiny little brigade is weak against my army. Tell me, what glory do you gain from this?” He swept his free hand across the battlefield. He growled when she wouldn’t look up and pulled on her hair again to force her too. He gestured to all the dead bodies of her friends. They all laid emotionless, blank, and still. Tears fell down her face.

“From all this death?” He looked back to her, to gloat on how he had won, only to get a knife in his neck.

“до свидания.” She spat in his face, pushing him down with the rest of her energy before falling to the ground. As she laid dying face down in the mud with the sounds of her father’s heavy gasps and gunfire, she couldn’t help but think of what he said. _Was there any glory in all of this? Did she think they would actually win?_ Her army was only made up of maybe a thousand men, but compared to her father’s million, it was suicide. It is suicide. The miracle she hoped for, the miracle that would show up when everything looked bleak, never happened.

“I'm sorry for failing you.” She said to all her dead comrades with her last dying breath.

**Author's Note:**

> Translation: Until we meet again (Russian)


End file.
